Words of a Fashion
by Robin Mask
Summary: Arthur requires the services of Nina Hopkins, leaving him wondering about her true nature . . . One-Shot.


**A/N: **A short story in response to a challenge at .

**Words of a Fashion**

"I-I'm sure that I could make do."

"Nonsense! You wouldn't tell _Shakespeare_ to 'make do' with just one act, and _you_ can't 'make do' with just one suit! I don't tell you how to do your day-job, do I? Don't tell me how to do mine! You're not the _only _artist here, you know."

Arthur drew in a deep breath and tried to keep his apprehension under control. He felt rather exposed in merely his vest-top and a pair of shorts, but he had been assured that it was necessary for measuring and for the perfect fit. It was simply strange to be stood in the middle of what appeared to be a workshop-cum-studio, standing before three tall mirrors, and forced to look at himself in the reflection. He just looked so average. It was hard to believe how a mere outfit would improve that.

Well, she came highly recommended, and Ciel Phantomhive himself had used this woman on many an occasion. Still, he wasn't a noble and he wasn't use to such finery, this kind of attire seemed to be something that belonged in a romance novel rather than on his person, and – if truth be told – this woman unnerved him greatly. She was not like other women. She was so theatrical and extravagant, she seemed to make even the most trivial event into a huge melodrama, and she was so filled with confidence that it bordered on arrogance. How could a woman walk around with legs bared as she did? Did she not know what effect she had on men?

"You men think you can get away with just any old thing," Nina snapped, whilst she whipped the measuring tape around his waist. "You have no idea about the language that clothes speak! Your accessories are one word, but your outfit is an entire encyclopaedia! Oh, by the time I'm through with you, you'll be as handsome as any fair maiden or beautiful boy!"

Arthur wasn't sure what he thought about that.

The truth was that he simply needed a plain – yet smart – suit in order to talk to a publisher, in the hope that maybe a smart appearance and a good sell would enable him to write full-time. He didn't want to look like someone he wasn't. He was just a typical young man, average in every respect, with brown hair and brown eyes and rather thick eyebrows. He wasn't adorable or pretty or handsome, and he probably never would be. He would be happy if he just looked presentable.

"I didn't realise that clothes have a language," he said conversationally.

"Of course! You have the form-fitting kimonos of Japan, the saris of India, and the kilts of Scotland! Each one will have a dozen or more variations . . . the tartan of a kilt will tell you the family who wears it, the sari will change in style according to religion and region, and the kimono knot will vary according to the _type _of woman who wears it! That's not to mention colours and personal preferences.

"Red denotes passion and vibrancy, purple spirituality and often designated to those only of the upper classes in _some _places, for that matter yellow was only ever for the emperor in China! Oh, and then there's the changing fashions too, corsets and bustles, and not to mention the jewellery and hairstyles used to complement! It's usually a certain type of woman who would wear a long-necklace with a plunging top, not to mention all sorts of other factors . . . any time you decide on an outfit you are declaring to the world your mood, class, income, and moral value! Now, what do you think that _I'm _saying with _this_?"

Arthur looked at Nina and gave a blush. There was no denying how stunning she was, but he didn't honestly know _what _she was trying to say by wearing what she did, and he also knew that a gentleman couldn't say exactly what he was thinking. She wore a very short pair of shorts, that would have been much better on a child, and they exposed almost the entire length of her leg . . . pale white skin was clearly on show, with her firm and supple limbs catching his eye any time that she moved. She also wore a long-sleeved top that was cut low enough to reveal her cleavage, which was quite impressive and hard to avoid gazing upon. She didn't appear like a lady at all, but she was so highly recommended and she looked . . . well . . . amazing.

"I – er – wouldn't rightly though," Arthur choked.

"Is that right? Well, men don't listen very well at the best of times," Nina said with a chuckle. "Mr Stiff is the worst, telling me to avoid red! If you want to know what _my _outfit says then just listen carefully, okay? I'm going to measure your inseam."

"You are? Well, I suppose –"

He jumped as he felt the cold hand at his ankle, as beautifully manicured fingers trailed slowly up his leg . . . the touch felt far too slow and kindly for it to be a usual measuring, but then a woman had never measured him before. It was hard not to blush. It was hard not to swallow hard as the hard came ever and ever upwards, and soon enough he felt something that he probably oughtn't have felt.

"_Oh_ -! I think I get the massage -! I mean _message_!"

"Good. This also measures up very well."

"I – I'm glad . . . "


End file.
